Infected
by sinemoras09
Summary: Sylar in post Apocalyptic New York. AU, genfic, character death. Based on the 28 Days Later universe.


_i_.

When the virus strikes, no one notices at first--just a few more random deaths, a puzzle for Infectious Disease. Then the people start dying in hordes, the stench of infection thick in the air. The order calls for quarantine, and Manhattan is boarded up on itself, the tunnels blown apart and the city isolated from the rest of the world. Soon almost all of New York is dead; specials live in sewers and Sylar is the last one standing. On clear days, Sylar can see the bright lights of New Jersey winking back at him, the salty sky bright blue and the white gulls calling overhead.

.

_ii_.

Not all infected die. Those that survive are more aggressive, more powerful, a genetic mutation gone in reverse; while specials like him lose their abilities, normals seem to gain speed and strength and bloodlust rivaling his own. Their minds are gone. They're violent, murder in their eyes. But Sylar's made for survival, he doesn't need his abilities. Machete strapped to his back, Sylar knows how to take care of himself.

Sylar sees Claire Bennet running out into the street, her cheerleader's feet pounding on the pavement. They're chasing her and she trips, and when they tear her apart, even Sylar has to look away.

.

_iii_.

Sylar hears the clattering of something dropping and he whirls around. He sees Mohinder and Molly clutching each other, terrified.

"You're alive," Sylar says.

"I'm immune," Mohinder says. "Bennet, Sandra...everyone else is dead."

Even without his abilities, Sylar still has that exquisite understanding. He thinks of normals who become infected, sees Mohinder holding Molly tight.

"You killed them," Sylar says, and Mohinder nods, closing his eyes.

"You didn't have a choice," Sylar says, but he knows Mohinder won't see it that way.

.

_iv_.

At night, they hide in a series of abandoned subway tunnels. Trash bins are lit on fire, and the orange light flickers against the dark concrete. Sylar descends the subway steps and lets his eyes adjust to the dark. Against the walls he can see the survivors huddled in the corners, tattered blankets around their shoulders and the whiteness of their breath dispersing in the cold air. Mohinder, Molly, Peter Petrelli. Adam Monroe, who lived forever and now can die. All of them rescued. All of them afraid. They're out of food but the infected are out in droves.

"What do we do?" Peter asks, and Mohinder looks at him with tired eyes.

"We wait," Mohinder says. "We have no choice."

Sylar has a better idea, though. He glances back at Adam, who's staring at the ground.

.

_v_.

Without his abilities, Adam can't withstand the blows. Blood pours down his face, and Adam slumps over. Sylar yanks his head up with his hair.

"You think that hurts? " Sylar asks. "I can show you what pain really feels like. I can make you scream. Make you beg. I can make it so that you wished I killed you in the first place. That's what you deserve, isn't it? For everything you've put us through."

"I wanted to save the world," Adam says, and Sylar grabs him by the shirt.

"You're going to save _us_, and you want to know how?" Sylar asks. "You're going to be the bait." And Sylar drags him up to the surface, throwing him on the ground.

.

_vi._

When the infected descend on Adam, Sylar has to grab Peter by the arm to keep him from doing something stupid. "He's a dead man. We need to get supplies," Sylar says. And Sylar knows Peter won't question him, he's his new brother now, the man who knows how things work. Sylar didn't ask for this--Sylar wasn't meant to be the fearless leader. But they trust him and Sylar has no choice. Everyone's dead and the city's left in ruins. Mohinder, Peter, Molly...they would die without him. And as it is right now, Sylar can't bear to be alone.

"He's screaming," Peter says. "He's still alive."

Sylar glances back at Adam's body. He's eviscerated, his intestines torn out. Blood and guts spill out from inside him and Sylar can see him gurgling blood.

"Better him than one of us," Sylar says.

.

_vii_.

They're surrounded by infected. Dead, red eyes and blood dripping down their mouths, they're blood-hungry, and Sylar and Peter are trapped. Beside them, an overturned car burns black oil, and Sylar lights a flare. The infected are afraid of fire.

"Wish we had our abilities now, huh Pete?" Sylar says. Peter grips his ax.

"You and me both," Peter says.

An infected springs. Sylar slashes at him with his machete, his other hand waving the flame. Another comes and Peter whirls around, whacking him with his ax. More start running and Peter and Sylar break into a sprint, feet pounding against the ground. "This way!" Sylar says, and they make a hard right for the tunnels.

There's a car left on the road and Sylar throws the door open and yanks Peter inside. They slam the doors shut and Sylar starts hotwiring the car. "Hurry!" Peter says.

"I can't find the ignition circuit!" Sylar says.

"Hurry, hurry!" Peter says. The infected start shaking the car.

"Got it!" Sylar says. He starts the car and turns it into a hard reverse. Infected slam into the car bumper. Sylar switches into drive and speeds down the street, heading back toward the subway entrance.

.

_viii_.

Peter and Mohinder are fighting. "New Jersey is just right there, we have to leave," Mohinder says.

"They blew up all the tunnels, there's no way we can make it," Peter says.

"We have to or we'll die," Mohinder says. "All the stores are empty, and we're running out of water, it hasn't rained for days. If the infected don't kill us first, we'll starve to death. We don't have a choice."

Sylar crouches in the shadows, watching them argue. Even though he's with them, he's not a part of them. He's most acutely aware of this when they're with Molly. Though he's been with them for months now, the girl is still afraid of him; she clings to Peter and Mohinder like family. Sylar just watches. It's the way it's always been.

Around him, Sylar can hear the soft dripping of water, can smell the sour tang of sewage and concrete. Mohinder and Peter are still fighting. It's time to make a decision.

"We stay," Sylar says. "We're infected. Even if we make it to New Jersey, they'd shoot us on sight. They'd even kill _you_, and you're the only one of us who's immune."

Mohinder pulls Molly closer to his chest. "I'll take my chances," Mohinder says. Peter looks torn.

Sylar turns the machete over in his hands.

.

_ix_.

When they leave, Sylar doesn't say goodbye. Peter and Molly move forward but Mohinder looks back.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Mohinder asks. Sylar looks at him with hard eyes.

"You've made your choice, and I've made mine. You're the one who's making a mistake," Sylar says.

"Mohinder?" Peter stands at the mouth of the tunnel.

"I'm coming," Mohinder says. He glances back at Sylar. "I wish you'd change your mind," Mohinder says.

Sylar doesn't answer. It's not his job to protect them anymore.

.

_x_.

The infected descend on them, and Sylar acts quickly. He lights a torch and slashes the air, the infected pulling back. With his other arm, he wields his machete, the metal gleaming bright in the dark. Infected fall around him like leaves, but it's too late, there's nothing left. Peter is dead and Mohinder's guts are hanging out. Molly stares up at him with dead gray eyes.

Sylar crouches low and watches Mohinder's face as he struggles to breathe, his mouth moving soundlessly, the blood pooling around his throat. The blow that comes is quick, Sylar makes sure of that. In all his years and all his travels, the one thing Sylar is still good at is killing without pain.

Sylar empties a can of gasoline on the bodies and lights a match. The flames rise up, and Sylar is silhouetted by fire, orange embers floating softly in the cold night air. There's nothing to comfort him now, just the dying embers of a funeral pyre, and the lonely flush of an inescapable dawn.


End file.
